


Don't Let Go

by Darkestsiren



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:31:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9637028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkestsiren/pseuds/Darkestsiren
Summary: Damen is mortally wounded, his uncle is dead, the city is in chaos, Nikandros doesn't trust him, but Laurent can only think of Damen's safety.Immediately after the end of King's Rising.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little fluffy fun. WIth a little nightmare thrown in for fun!

“Don’t let go, please.” A breath. Warm, dark eyes drifted closed. Stayed.

The knot in Laurent’s stomach tightened but he didn’t let his fear show. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. 

He sat in a pool of Damen’s blood on the hard tile in the slave baths, cradling Damen’s head in his lap, their fingers threaded together, his dirty chiton limp against his skin. He was filthy and exhausted and he couldn’t care less.

All his thoughts were of Damen’s safety.

After he’d killed Kastor, after the strange lightness that had followed when he and Damen had looked into each other’s eyes and promised to unite their kingdoms, Nikandros had arrived out of breath, his face flushed with urgency. He had paled when he saw Damen, his King, bleeding on the floor. 

Laurent had ordered him to fetch a pallet and a physician but Nikandros had refused to leave him alone with Damen until Laurent assured him that Damen would bleed to death if he didn’t go. While he’d been away Laurent had kept pressure on the knife wound in Damen’s abdomen, kneeling beside him on the hard tiles. The wound looked deep and there was already enough blood sluicing the bath’s floor to make Laurent worry.

He kept the fear off his face though, spoke soft words to Damen about the future; a future he’d never thought he’d have. A future he might still not get it. Damen smiled up at him, his breath shallow and rasping. Blood seeped, rich and bright, through Laurent’s fingers, and he pressed harder. 

_Don’t let go…_  

When Paschal had arrived he’d taken one look at Damen and shooed Laurent away. Swallowing, Laurent had started to stand but Damen had gripped him tightly. 

“Don’t let go,” Damen breathed, his eyes fluttering. “Please.”

“Very well.” Laurent settled back on the tile, out of Paschal’s way, cradling Damen’s dark, curly head as he fell unconscious. Laurent wove their fingers together, ignoring the clenching in his guts, and swore to himself that he wouldn’t let go. He looked down at Damen’s sleeping face, serene and beautiful, and wondered anew at his amazing, idiot barbarian. Damen had come for him, knowing it would most likely mean his death. Laurent could still only barely believe it. He hadn’t thought he would. Hadn’t believed… 

He swallowed thoughts of love. Now wasn’t the time. Now was the time for clear thinking. He pushed back the panic that was threatening to break him, the thoughts of what would happen if Damen didn’t wake, the thoughts of what would happen if— _when_ , Damen did wake, and drew about him the cold relief of practiced indifference. It settled over him, a familiar mantle. His back straightened, his face smoothed, his chin lifted. His voice, when he spoke, was ice. 

But he never let go of Damen’s hand. 

Not as Paschal worked, with creased face and steady hands. As he cleaned and stitched and spread a thick, sweet-smelling balm over Damen’s wound. 

Not as he wrapped clean bandages around Damen’s body, struggling against his massive weight. 

Not when, at long last, Paschal began to move away and Laurent stopped him, his free hand on the older man’s arm. 

“Thank you, Paschal,” he said. Quiet. “For what you said. For the letters.”

Paschal dropped his eyes, as though suddenly remembering that he was in the presence of his King. “It was my honor, Your Highness. I only wish I had come forward sooner.”

“When did Nicaise send them to you?” 

“I received them at Marlas.” 

Laurent reviewed the events of the past few days. “Then it seems to me you came forward as soon as it was useful to do so,” Laurent said. “If I’d had the letters sonner, my uncle would have confiscated them.”

Paschal didn’t answer. “We need to get him to bed,” Paschal said, nodding toward Damen. 

Laurent gave him a clipped nod and signaled for the pallet Nikandros had provided. Four uniformed men came forward and loaded their wounded King onto the pallet, as gently as possible.

“Don’t let him move,” Paschal cautioned, his warning directed as much to the pallet bearers as to Laurent. 

Laurent stood slowly as the pallet was lifted, still holding Damen’s hand. He called for servants to ready the King’s chambers, cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner. He walked beside the pallet, stiff, fingers still woven with Damen’s as they made their way through the labyrinth of white stone halls. He held Damen’s hand as he was settled into the large, freshly made bed, held it as servants finished setting the room with wine and water, bread and fresh fruit, held it as Nikandros tried to draw him away with words of governance.

Instead, he issued orders from Damen’s bedside. Secure the city, he told them. Send missives to their forces at Karthas, prepare for the inevitable resistance he knew several of Kastor’s former Kyroi would try to raise. Clean Kastor’s body and lay it out for formal viewing, in a place of honor.

He never let go of Damen’s hand.

At last, deep in the night, after swearing in Nikandros as Kyroi of Ios, after receiving the well wishes of those members of the Akielon court still loyal to Damen, after hearing the fealty vows of the Veretian nobles the Regent had brought with him from Arles, after instructing Nikandros to arrest anyone he suspected of treason and throw them in the dungeons, Laurent dismissed the servants and turned his weary eyes to Damen. 

He hadn’t let go. Not once. 

The room was swept over with darkness, lit only by the dim, twinkling glow of the stars beyond the plain Akielon windows. Damen was pale as death in the starlight. As Laurent gazed upon him, it was as if two princes lay there. One fair, one dark. Both wearing too much red. Both slipping into nothing even as Laurent closed his fists around them and begged them not to go. 

_Don’t let go!_  

Laurent blinked the vision away. Auguste was long dead and Damen, he’d been assured, would make a full recovery. Yet, looking down at him, Laurent’s heart seemed to race in his chest, pounding out a frightened, frantic beat. He couldn’t control it, he was too full of the panic he’d forced down earlier. 

Laurent squeezed Damen’s hand and forced himself to breathe evenly. He felt brittle, heavy, stretched so far beyond his capacity he wasn’t sure he hadn’t already broken. He needed to sleep. 

The servants had laid Damen at the edge of the bed so, with his delicate strength, Laurent stepped over his sleeping companion and curled up on top of the bedding beside him. He kept hold of Damen’s hand, reaching awkwardly across the barbarian’s ridiculously wide chest. Laurent tucked his head into Damen’s shoulder and pulled his knees in tight. A measure of relief washed over his chilled, tense body. Damen was warm and alive, his skin soft and soothing and alluringly comforting. 

Slowly, Laurent found he could breathe again. 

He was drowning in darkness. Above him there was only darkness, and to the left, and the right. Below him there was hard, cold stone, and on his wrists were heavy cuffs of icy iron. The only spot of light was the golden cuff his uncle had let him keep, gleaming warmly on his wrist.

“You’ve always been a slave to your sordid desires, Nephew,” his uncle said, his contempt clear. 

“Yes, uncle.” The desired response. 

“See where it’s gotten you?” The Regent pursed his thick lips and shook his head slowly. 

Laurent ached, ashamed to have disappointed his uncle, his only family. “I’m sorry, uncle. I’ll do better. I promise.”

“Good boy,” his uncle smiled his cruel smile. 

A tremor went through Laurent. 

“Now, get on your knees.”

Laurent swallowed back bile but he did as he was told. His knees hit heavy velvet carpet and Laurent lifted his eyes to his uncle’s familiar rooms, replete with shining satins, gold and marble. On the wall hung a long leather cord with several knots tied into it at regular intervals. Laurent dropped his eyes instantly, his whole body filled with ice. 

The Regent stood in front of him, ordered him to unlace his pants. To pull his cock from his clothes. To suck him until he came. 

Laurent flinched away and his uncle struck him, hard in the face. Laurent tumbled backward onto cold stone again, his chained wrists hitting the ground with a clang. 

“No one can save you now,” the Regent said calmly. “You are exactly where I want you. You have failed, Laurent, false prince of Vere, and now you will die.”

Laurent jerked awake, biting down on a cry. 

“Laurent?” 

Laurent scrambled away from the voice, his body tensing, ready to fight, but he couldn’t free his hand. Whoever was with him held him fast, with a brutish strength that surprised him. 

“Laurent, stop trying to get away. It’s me. Damen.”

Laurent stilled. “Damen?”

“Yes, Laurent. Who else would you have crawled into bed with?”

Laurent could hear his chuckle, feel the deep rumble of it in his blood. He let out a breath. “It was my uncle,” he said. Quietly. 

“I know. You were screaming.”

Laurent felt the uncomfortable prickle of heat on his face.

Damen pulled him forward slowly, slowly enough that Laurent could have resisted if he’d wanted. He didn’t. He let Damen pull him against his chest, let his arm wind around him. Let him lay his cheek against Laurent’s pale hair. 

“You never let go,” Damen said softly, lifting their linked hands. 

Laurent could hear his smile. “You asked me not to.” 

Damen hummed happily and Laurent stiffened in his arms. When Damen felt his unease he only laughed. “At least now I know what I have to do to get you to do as I ask,” he teased. 

Laurent snorted. “I can assure you, barbarian, your imminent death is not necessary for my compliance.” 

“Oh?” Damen questioned. 

“No.” Laurent didn’t elaborate and Damen didn’t press him. Instead, Damen drew light fingers up and down Laurent’s arm, trying to calm him. They lay like that, together, for a long while. Finally, “I thought… When I saw you there, covered in… I—” Laurent blinked against the sudden, unwelcome moisture in his eyes. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Laurent,” Damen said gently. “You’re stuck with me.”

Laurent hummed into Damen’s chest, finally letting himself relax into Damen’s arms. “I still can’t believe you came for me.” An admission. Damen’s hand was in his hair. 

“At Ravenel, I asked myself, a kingdom or this?” Damen tightened his arm around Laurent so he would know, without question, that he meant them. “I didn’t know the answer then. I do now.”

“It was reckless.” 

Damen laughed, then winced. 

“You’re not supposed to move,” Laurent scolded. 

“I didn’t care,” Damen said. He sounded strained. “All that mattered was saving you. I’d deal with whatever happened after, as long as you were safe.”

“Stupid barbarian.” But he grinned into Damen’s chest, an unfamiliar lightness growing in his chest. 

Damen was silent for a long moment and Laurent thought he’d fallen asleep again. 

“You sacrificed yourself for me.” 

Laurent couldn’t breathe. He shut his eyes and tried to force the ice into his veins. He couldn’t. He should have known. He’d long since lost his ability to shut Damen out. 

“Why?”

Laurent tucked his chin and sat up slowly, his eyes downcast. “I couldn’t let you die.” Honest. “And then, at the Kingsmeet.” He looked away, face impassive. 

Damen gnashed his teeth together. “Your uncle.” His anger was as palpable and hot as it had been the day before. It made Laurent feel like he was falling. 

“You were nearly killed. I had to go with him then. It was the only way.”

“Even though you knew what would happen?”

“I’m used to him.”

“Laurent.” Damen struggled, trying to sit up. 

“Stop! Paschal said you’re not to move.” Laurent pushed him back down, one hand on his enormous shoulder. The other was still threaded into Damen’s. Damen wrapped his free arm around Laurent and pulled him down, effectively trapping him on the huge man’s chest. “Damen, your injury.”

“Is fine,” Damen assured him. Though his brows were pinched. 

“Let go.” Laurent pushed back against Damen’s arm but Damen only held him tighter. 

“Laurent.” Damen waited for Laurent to stop squirming. He waited for Laurent to look at him. It took a long time. “Thank you.”

Laurent flushed, hear searing up his throat and into his face. He tired to pull away. 

“Will you stop trying to get away from me? You’re pulling at my stitches.”

Laurent stilled. He frowned down at Damen’s neck, unable to meet his eyes. Slowly, so slowly, a warm finger appeared under his chin. Damen forced his face up, drew him in close. 

“Look at me.” Pleading. 

Laurent looked. 

“He was going to kill you. You know that.”

“Yes.”

“And still, you went with him?”  
“Yes.”  
“Why?” 

Silence. 

“Why, Laurent?” 

“You’re really going to make me say it?”

Damen grinned, pulling Laurent even tighter into him, though it surely made his wound smart. “I love you, too.”       

Laurent rolled his eyes. “Stupid barbarian,” he scowled. But he was smiling. He bent down and caught Damen’s lips. 

Damen threaded his fingers into Laurent’s hair, securing him to him, and kissed him back slowly, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss. Laurent pulled away, too soon, frowning. 

“We can’t.” Firm. 

“Not yet,” Damen agreed. “But soon.” He lifted their still linked hands and kissed Laurent’s fingers, one by one. “Until then, don’t let go.”

“Very well.” Smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Please let me know in the comments. I love hearing from you all! You are wonderful!


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